an act of contrition

god does not exist in an open sore or grey-cast eyes

or in final moments
when a chest is pounded and ribs break


(although
i concede he
may have been
the calm
inside
my head)


___

i would hope to find god in the face of ambivalence

be given a chance to create some calculable shift - a rift greater
than the distance between forefinger and thumb and more expansive
than a uterus at three months gestation


___

i would like to reclaim faith

discover a mustard seed
to feed
the sparrow perched
pretty on my shoulder

__









oh! to find god in an orange sunset

in the stain of a dry river bed



___


i dreamed
i was at the river
with its musty air
and murky water
just beneath the surface
ten thousand souls
floated past- the youngest of
whom had your eyes
and my cheeks- he
caught and flipped in a current

i thought to save him
you said it was too late




___


i believe in god
in all things seen and unseen




if god were to lay his
hand on my shoulder
and escort me across the river

would he explain modality
or crisis - would he
pluck trillium from the river's edge
tuck it behind my ear
kiss me hard on the lips, part my thighs
and finger my naughty bits



how perfectly scandalous that version of god would be

our lord as a playboy, a grifter
packing moves we had never seen



___



in my dream
a fish laid
dead on the shore

i piled twigs and
toasted his remains
scales and all

he never complained
thousands were fed




___



the relationship you once failed
will repeat itself again and again

the fish
the child
the mother
the sparrow
god

they exist

the relationship you once
failed will repeat itself


the fish
the child
the mother
the sparrow
god














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